Ok, so the week has been pretty tragic, but I really don’t want misery to be my middle name. In the words of a friend in Boston, “I don’t like insecure Marie.” I need to own this.
Saturday has a slow start, but I do home things and some writing with the ultimate goal of accomplishing master’s paper stuff at a coffee shop later on. I eventually mobilize and hop on the first bus I see where I recognize some of the areas listed on its sign.
I enjoy the swift trip up the side of the bowl and back down again. I begin to recognize things and am also following my dot on google maps to be sure I am heading in the right direction. Efficiently enough, I am dropped a block away from Pergamino!
This is allegedly the best coffee in Medellin and living up to its reputation, I am able to get a delicious iced latte in an adorable Ball jar. I settle in with my Spanish homework, since they don’t have outlets I have to conserve my laptop battery. A co-worker meets me here to also do work and we have a really pleasant afternoon.
The evening is filled with street sushi, wine and some serious procrastination at home. Because making all of my Facebook photos private is a way higher priority than my master’s paper.
Sunday brings more learning- my second Spanish lesson! I really enjoy my tutor, but kind of hate walking into the hostel. I have only truly backpacked once and even then, felt I was set apart from the others. After class, I meet up with the same co-worker from my Saturday coffee work date and we go for taco lunch in a trendy-but trying to stay traditional, neighborhood. We then venture to the metro for the big flower festival.
The masses of people are unreal. This city has really not accommodated for its own growth. (Did I ever mention that license plates are all coded so that you have two days a week where you can’t drive, because the roads just can’t handle the traffic) We walk the equivalent of about three metro stops and still can’t find standing room to see a glimpse of the parade. We hang around for maybe another hour, watching what we can from the teleprompters.
The whole tradition of it all is kind of sad. The poor people come down the hills into the city with these gorgeous flower arrangements that they carry on their backs. Walking for hours, hunched over with a plywood made display of flowers in the direct sun is less than pleasant. These people also range in age from children maybe age 10 to elderly folks in their 60’s I’m sure. It’s a little unsettling since most of the Colombians are just there to drink their faces off anyway, with little attention paid to the actual parade activities.
I leave feeling disappointed and unaccomplished. I pick up wine on the way home and settle in to do some more “work” (aka procrastinating) and my night is made by a sweet skype call with a kindred spirit in Boston, Cambridge actually 😉